


The Only Family I Have Left

by Feech



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Age Sameness, First Time, M/M, S2E12 A Tale of Two Stans, Sex, Sibling Incest, Stan/Stan romance, Twincest, middle of the night toast party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 00:28:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8266021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feech/pseuds/Feech
Summary: Pride is overrated.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Betaread and much improved by [Channing](https://scrivnarium.wordpress.com/).
> 
> This takes place directly following the events of S2E12 "A Tale of Two Stans".
> 
> ***

"Grunkle Stan!" Mabel pounded on his bedroom door. "I can't sleep!"

Stanley was already up, and half dressed, before she knocked. He opened the door and said gruffly, "I can't sleep, either."

The moonlight from Stan's bedroom window reached far enough past the door to illuminate Mabel's face. She was suntanned, but in this light, and worried as she was, she looked pale. "You have to do something!" she cried. "I didn't see you guys hug even once since you saved him from the other dimension. Tell me you hugged before you went to bed. Please tell me you hugged."

"We didn't."

"Grunkle Stan, fix it!"

"I am, honey. You can go back to bed."

"Oh, thank goodness. I can't ask Grunkle Ford to fix it, unless of course it's an emergency and you can't do it. He's still a little crazy--" Mabel spun a finger near her ear "--and stubborn. His mind's scrambled after being in an alternate dimension. We can't wait for him to get right in the head! _You_ have to be the one to do something! I was so afraid you'd be too stubborn."

"No, Mabel, you’re exactly right. There's no point in me sitting on my butt, getting more and more anxious for the rest of the summer, when I can put my pride in my pocket and fix it now."

Mabel's eyes shone. "You're going to manipulate him!"

"I'm going to grovel."

Mabel clasped her hands. "Yay! I have faith in you! Go grovel, Grunkle Stan!"

Stan gave her a grim thumbs-up. Mabel turned and ran off in her bare feet, back to her room. Stan shuffled off in his slippers to find Ford.

Of course, Ford wasn't in his bedroom. The vending machine in the shop stood away from the wall. Stan descended the basement steps and entered the code for the elevator. He crossed the lab with help from the lights of Ford's workstation.

"I hear you shuffling down here in your slippers," Ford said without turning around.

Stanley stood close behind his brother and shook his feet out of the slippers. Ford spun his chair around and frowned at him. "Well? What do you want?"

Stan hit the floor on his knees. He aimed for his slippers, to save his knees the stress of actually hitting the floor, but he flattered himself that the emotional and visual effect was the same. He grasped Ford's knees, one in each hand, and made with the beseeching. "Oh my God, _Ford_ , can you ever forgive me?"

Ford looked skeptical. "What for?"

"I don't know!" Stan sobbed. "You pick!"

"I can probably forgive you for something if you apologize."

"Did I ever tell you you're the handsomer twin?"

"I'm not hearing an apology."

"All right, fine, I'm sorry for ruining your million-dollar Science experiment, okay? I would have told you... probably... but I swear to God it was still perpetually motioning when I left it. I didn't mean to break it, honest, but I lost my temper, and it ended up wrecking your thing. And then I got kicked out. Remember when I got kicked out? So I'm seriously sorry for that."

"What about my feelings? What about how I _felt_ when you did that?"

"So, you were angry. I'm not happy that you were angry."

Ford furrowed his brow and his frown deepened. "I was hurt, Stan."

"I'm sorry I hurt you, then."

"And for the portal?"

"No!"

Ford tried to turn his chair back around by twisting his hips, but Stan clutched his knees and kept him facing forward. "I'm not sorry, Ford! If you want me to apologize for bringing you back through that portal, you can torture me, you can take away all my money, you can bribe me by _giving_ me my money _back_ , but I won't do it. I will not apologize for bringing you home."

"I'm not sure I can forgive you for the perpetual motion machine yet. I'm still sore about that. Since you apologized, I'll try to forgive you, but it may take some work."

"Fine, fine, I understand."

"As for your takeover of my house, and the situation with the portal, you know where we stand on that." Ford stood, Stan's fingers gripped in the fabric of his pants. "Goodnight, Stanley."

Stan jumped up and threw his arms around Ford in a crushing hug. "Stanford! Don't go to bed yet!"

"What in the heck, Stan?"

"I'm going to miss you so much when I move out in the fall. What will I do? I'm an old man, I probably have a heart condition..."

Ford jerked his head back. "A heart condition?"

"That's something that old men have, sure, why not. How can you expect me to start over in life without you, Ford? I'm friendless. I'm penniless... pretty sure I'm penniless, that is. Literally, I probably have no pennies in my... I mean in _your_ house, right now." He mumbled, "I went to the bank about two days ago and exchanged coins for bills." He raised his voice. "And you're kicking me out!"

Ford made a slight backward motion of his shoulders. Stan was strong, but he knew Ford could remove him if he wanted to. The prospect worried him, and he hung on for dear life. But Ford only lifted one hand as best he could with his upper arm restrained, and patted Stanley's side. "Don't be sad. It has to be that way."

"Why? _Why does it have to be that way?_ Why do I have to leave now, now that you're back? The only way I survived this entire time was because of you, Ford. I had to keep my lies and crimes slightly more secret than ever before, so nobody would run me out of town. It was really hard. But I had to get you back. Every time I knew that I couldn't do it, that I couldn't keep this up for one more day, I would remind myself: I'm not Stanley Pines anymore. I'm Stanford Pines. I can handle anything."

"What made you think I could handle anything?"

Stan ignored that. "So now you're here and I'm just Stanley Pines again. I'm the same miserable failure I always was."

Ford grunted, trying once more to back away, half-heartedly, but getting gripped all the more firmly in Stan's python arms. "Stanley, It's late, and I could go up to bed, now..."

In striving to keep his brother enclosed in his arms, Stan pressed full against him and discovered that the holding, heat and friction had had a desirable effect on Ford, one that Stan could use. He had to make sure of what he thought he was feeling, through his brother's pants and his own boxers and robe. Stan took one arm from around Ford's shoulders, long enough to surreptitiously brush his fingers across Ford's crotch. Yep, very hard.

Ford tugged his freed shoulder, but Stan caught him again. He grabbed the small of Ford's back, got one of Ford's shoulders tight in the crook of his elbow, and pushed their hips together. Now Ford could move his arms, but he was crammed tight up against Stan's front. Ford curled his fingers over Stan's arm, making slow motions of uncertain intent, possibly either pulling his brother off of him or cuddling the arm. He made some short humming sounds, somewhere between irritation and pleasure. Stan nuzzled the bend of his brother's neck, mouth moving and voice vibrating against his skin. "Please, please, please let me stay here with you. Please Ford, please don't kick me out. I took care of your house for you. I love you, please."

Stan moved the hand that was on the small of Ford's back, down to his ass, and pressed harder against him, angling his hips to grind against Ford's cock. Ford made a few more noises of uncertain meaning and Stan felt a light touch at his nape, then Ford's hand firmly on his scalp. Ford whimpered, "Stan..."

"Ford?" Stan stopped grinding their hips together, but he didn't let go. "You enjoy this? Is this good?" He winced as his cock twitched, needing more pressure. He pressed his crotch back up against Ford's.

Ford made a brief, affirmative humming sound and petted Stan's hair. He made no further move to leave. Stan groaned, arms trembling and fingers clenching. His cock was throbbing. He inhaled deeply over Ford's shoulder, unclenched his fingers and loosened his hold. Ford turned his head toward Stan. As soon as Stan felt Ford's breath on his cheek, he turned to meet him and kissed him firmly on the lips.

Ford's lips were chapped; he drew his tongue over his lower lip, then the kiss was wet and smooth. Stan pushed into it and touched the tip of his tongue to his brother's. Ford pressed his lips together, puckered up and moved into the kiss, close-mouthed, holding Stan by his upper arm. Stan tried to get him to open up again, but Ford tilted his head slightly so that Stan was kissing the corner of his mouth. Stan's stubble dragged against Ford's.

Stan pulled back. "No tongue?"

"Um." Ford gave his mouth a quick swipe with the heel of his hand. "My breath is kind of stale."

"Mine too. Don't worry about it." Stan tugged at Ford's arm. Ford slid his hand down to Stan's elbow, leaned in and let Stan part his lips, then their tongues were touching again. Ford hummed, moved his hands to Stan's shoulders, under the robe, and wadded Stan's undershirt in his fists. Stan withdrew his tongue for a moment and Ford took up the space, following him and then pushing further, making short, deep sounds. Stan had to take a step back to keep his balance. He groaned and slid their wet lips together, scrubbing his rough chin across Ford's.

When they parted, Stan panted for a few deep breaths before he was able to say hoarsely, "You're coming to my bedroom with me."

Stan grabbed Ford's hand and pulled. Ford wound his fingers more tightly around Stan's and let himself be led upstairs. He stumbled, as Stan never slackened his pace and Ford had to take each step at a weird angle behind him. At the door to the bedroom, Ford gave Stan a hurrying push.

Stan shut the door behind them. He shrugged out of his robe and stepped out of his boxers. Ford scrambled out of his pants and gave a relieved groan when his cock was freed. He took hold of Stan by an upper arm, wheeled him and threw him onto the bed, on his back. The bed creaked; Stan bounced slightly, chuckled, and then lay there with his arms spread.

Ford pushed his glasses back up his nose and stared, then looked away. Then he readjusted his glasses and stared again, until Stan said, "You must have had a plan for me when you threw me down here, right?"

"Not really."

"Well, what do you like in bed?"

"I don't know."

"Never done it with a guy, huh? That's okay, me neither. I haven't even done it with a whole lot of ladies."

"No, I'm..." Stanford coughed self-consciously. "...not at all experienced."

"You're not serious. Handsome guy like you?"

Ford knit his brow and nodded.

"Well, come on and get within reach and let's get you started."

Ford took off his coat and shirt and climbed onto the bed on his knees, hands on either side of Stanley, serious frown still in place.

Stan took Ford's glasses off and set them aside. "Hey Sixer, want to give me another kiss?"

Ford nodded and leaned down, eyes closed. Stan held Ford's chin to match up their lips, then closed his eyes and kissed Ford's lower lip, then sucked on it, humming into his mouth. Ford didn't make any sounds other than his heavy breathing. He let Stan do as he would for several seconds, then pressed down in eager reciprocation. Stan hummed into his mouth and made gentle kneading motions over Ford's collarbone.

Finally, Ford pulled back, huffing through his nose. He spread his hand over Stan's heart. "Stan... is there anything you don't want me to do?"

"Buddy, as long as you end the night by associating me with pleasure, I'm good. I defy you to kick me out after I've made sweet, hot love to you!"

"I would like to have an orgasm," Ford ventured.

"Whoah. Kinky."

"I don't know _how_ I want it. I got you in bed. I know I wanted something from you. You decide."

"Good. Let me jerk you off."

Ford sighed as if a great weight had been taken from him. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. He was on hands and knees above Stanley. Stan could easily reach Ford's thighs, the fronts of his legs, his back, his chest, his belly... Stan began to feel the privilege he was being granted. He reached one hand up to Ford's cheek, rubbed his chin with a thumb, and touched his temple. Ford tilted his head into Stan's touch.

Stan placed one hand behind Ford's balls and curled his fingers to stroke them. Ford's eyelashes fluttered and he gave a sharp intake of breath, barely audibly. Stan said, "Gonna cautiously take that little noise you made as a good sign."

Then Ford rolled his shoulders and tilted his hips. "Okay," said Stan, "that's definitely encouraging."

"Yeah," Ford answered him. "I like--yeah."

Stan had thought he would grip Ford tightly and get him off, hard. He surprised himself with the slow, reverent way in which he approached stroking his brother's cock. "I've missed you."

"Missed you, too." Ford took several ragged breaths and then warned, "Stan, when I come, it's going to be all over... all over your chest and everything..."

"Obviously."

"You want me to?"

"Yes. Can't hurt. If you make me your bitch, maybe you won't want to let me out of your sight. This can only be a good thing."

Ford chuckled shakily and closed his eyes. He began to thrust into Stan's grip. His fingers raked through the bedsheets and bunched them up. Stan let out some hums, grinned and licked his lips, then outright moaned.

"Stan... you sound like--like you're the one getting--getting something out of this."

"Heck yeah I'm getting something out of this. You're gorgeous, Ford. And you're fucking my hand, you've never fucked _anybody_ before, so yeah, it's the hottest thing that's ever happened to me."

Ford made slow, rhythmic grunts that evolved into punched-out _uh_ sounds, then a long, low growl. When Ford went from slowly thrusting to rapidly bucking his hips, Stan began muttering, "Yeah... yeah brother... come on, come on..."

Ford tensed, gasped, cried out and came all over Stan's upper belly, chest hair, throat and chin.

"Yes," exulted Stan, "Yes. Good." He sighed and looked down at himself. "Geez, it's like I'm swimming in Lake Ford, here. I'm impressed."

Ford was supporting himself over Stan on shaky arms. "It's been a long time since I--" He made a subtle twisting motion of one hand toward his crotch. Then he quickly dropped that hand again to stop himself from falling.

"I would think so!"

"Sorry, I'll... go to the bathroom and get a towel..."

"Nah, don't worry about it. Use a blanket. It'll be an excuse to do the laundry."

"Give me my glasses back."

They were just in reach of Stan's fingertips. He scootched them over and put them back on for Ford.

Stanford dutifully used a blanket to help clean up Stanley. The process made Stan even more aroused, and his erection had already been aching when they entered the bedroom. Ford took his time, and when he was done cleaning he slowly stroked Stan's upper arm, fluffing the hairs with his fingertips. Then he tumbled down beside him and nuzzled Stan's neck.

"You made me feel very good and I would like to return the favor." Ford held his hand over Stan's erection and made a little, demonstrative movement of his fingers. "Maybe I could--"

Stan could feel the heat from Ford's palm. He answered, "Yeah," and covered Ford's hand with his own. Ford still didn't press down, so Stan squeezed his hand and pushed down to encourage him.

Ford took a deep breath. "Okay." He licked his lips and started, roughly. Stan held back a whimper of discomfort, but some of it slipped out; Ford tried to pull his hand back, but Stan held him tight in place. "Sorry," Ford said. "I thought--I would be more gentle, but you were grabbing me pretty hard with your own hand. I was taking that as a direction."

"It's good," Stan grimaced. "I just--I want it really hard, but it's on the edge of hurting."

"You take your hand off, or move it up my arm or something, and I'll be more gentle."

Stan gripped Ford hard on his upper arm. "Do it hard anyway."

Ford took that so literally that Stan gave a wordless shout, then amended, "Not-that-hard!" And then Ford didn't have a whole lot of time to adjust before Stan groaned and came.

"Never mind," Stanley gasped. "That hard was fine."

Ford grunted in satisfaction. He used the blanket on Stan's belly once again.

"Come here." Stan took Ford's hands in both of his and kissed them. "I love your hands. You have great hands."

Ford went down again on one elbow next to Stan, careful never to remove his hands from his grasp. "Stanley... I was going to make you homeless. My own brother."

"No, you weren't."

"I was. I meant what I said."

"Sure, of course. I take that stuff seriously. I already got kicked out of the family once."

Ford winced and made a sound like somebody had punched him in the gut. Stan went on, "I'm just saying, I took your words seriously. But you weren't going to make me homeless. It was never going to happen. I'm living in the same house as you, Ford. I was barely getting started groveling and pining. We never got as far as me sleepwalking, crying at the breakfast table, and having Mabel worry that I'm losing weight. You wouldn't last a week if I could get Dipper to put on his big kitten eyes and wistfully ask me how they're going to visit me next summer, when I don't have a home."

"I do like those kids. Stanley... which do you love more, me or the house?"

"You, Poindexter. Have you been paying attention? I was only staying in the house to try to get you back. And I did. You're back. My biggest accomplishment ever."

"Even if I think it was a stupid mistake to bring me back... I'm proud of you."

"You are?"

"Yeah, you stuck it out. You did what you thought was right."

"It _is_ right, Ford. You can't convince me otherwise."

"That's what I mean." Ford's deep voice was timid when he asked, "Did you like sex with me well enough to do it again?"

"What, right now?"

"I was thinking sometime soon, but--" he shrugged.

"Now is soon."

"So you want it even if you don't need to use it to manipulate me?"

"Ford, I didn't need sex to manipulate you in the first place. It was a good opportunity, and I really wanted it, you seemed to want it too, so I took it. I got you to de-homeless me a lot quicker than I expected. But like I said, you would never have got rid of me anyway. I didn't need to make love to you to change your mind. So if lovemaking with me is something you still want, I'm all for it." Stan grinned. He could feel himself blushing. "I... I liked it a lot."

Ford said gruffly, "I like it. I want it. I want you."

"Good." Stan rubbed Ford's knuckles with his thumb.

Then they heard bare feet on the floorboards outside the room. Mabel had come back. She knocked more softly this time, as if fearful of what the answer to her question would be. "Grunkle Stan? Did it work?"

Stan grinned and stretched, and spoke loud enough for her to hear through the door. "Yeah, kiddo. It worked."

"You hugged?"

Ford mock-punched Stanley's chest and called out, "We're still hugging."

Stan snickered and grabbed Ford's neck, trying to give him a noogie. Ford laughed out loud. Stan tried to sound severe, but he couldn't. He sounded delighted. "You didn't have to tell her that."

"Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh," cried Mabel breathlessly, "meet me in the kitchen in five minutes."

"What?" Stan called out. "What for?"

"Toast!" Mabel yelled, and ran off.

*****

"We're having a toast party," Mabel informed her uncles when they came into the kitchen, washed and combed and dressed. The yellow light over the stove was on. Mabel was toasting bread with tongs, over a gas flame.

The table was set with paper plates and assorted stoneware mugs. Mabel had also laid out the One Step Down From Margarine and the Brown Hot Drink Powder With Cocoa Flavoring. The drawer full of "free" jam packets from the diner was hanging open. There was a paper plate on the floor, for the pig.

The men sat down and Mabel explained, "I just wanted to see with my own eyes..."

"Oh?" Ford scraped his chair over by Stan's, put an arm around Stan's waist and rested his head on his shoulder. "You mean, see this?"

Mabel's eyes went wide and starry. Her sigh went on for so long that she sat down in a chair, toast tongs in hand, to complete it.

"What's wrong with the toaster?" Stan wanted to know.

"Nothing," answered Ford. "It's in the basement. I needed it for Science."

"How are you already stealing my kitchen appliances for Science?" Stan suddenly one-arm-hugged Ford, hard. This pulled Ford down and sideways in front of Stan's face. Stan could bury his head in Ford's neck, staving off any unfounded rumors of tears that might be showing in the corners of his eyes.

Mabel jumped back up when her sigh was over and went on piling toast on a plate. "Dipper!" she shouted abruptly over her shoulder when most of the loaf of bread was toasted.

"Yeah, yeah, coming!" Dipper joined them and looked to his uncles. His chest rose and fell noticeably as he sighed deeply through his nose. "Oh, good! I... okay, I admit maybe Mabel and me were, um, listening to the tail end of a conversation we weren't exactly supposed to hear. And... maybe I heard more than I let on to Mabel. This is better than what we heard. This is way better."

Dipper moved to the side of Ford's chair and put his hand on the back of it, standing formally tall. "Great-Uncle Ford, you're my hero. I didn't want to have to think of you as the guy who would kick Grunkle Stan out of the house."

Ford frowned down at the table. "I didn't want to have to think of myself as that guy, either."

Dipper spontaneously moved his hand from the chair to Ford's shoulder and the volume of his voice went up a notch in his relief. "I'm so glad Grunkle Stan got that fixed right away!" He finished with a shaky laugh. Ford gave him a half-smile.

Stan squeezed Ford's hand under the table. "Okay, Mabel, make with the toast."

"All right! Fruit Jam!" Dipper yelled, grabbing a handful of individual diner packets out of the drawer.

"Here's a huge pile of toast, bro-bro."

"Stack some more on there, thank you, Mabel," Dipper said. "I eat a lot when I'm relieved."

Everyone except Mabel used lots of Fruit Jam. Mabel used one-half of a packet per slice. "Just enough to make the rainbow sprinkles stick."

Stanley and Ford each munched their toast one-handed, because Ford's other hand was around Stan's waist, and, under the table, Stan's free hand was on Ford's knee.

After a while, Mabel began sleepily picking up fallen rainbow sprinkles from her paper plate with her forefinger. "I feel emotionally secure again," she said. "Time for bed."

"Same for me." Dipper stood and picked up his empty plate to throw in the trash. "Goodnight, Grunkle Stan. Goodnight, Great-Uncle Ford."

"G'night, kids."

*****

Back in Stan's bedroom, Ford closed the door and tossed a clean towel onto the bed. He turned to Stan. "You can undress me."

"I was about to ask." Stan began rolling up the hem of Ford's sweater.

"I had some ideas, during the toast party. I want to try some things."

"Anything you say, brother."

"Probably nothing new, to you..."

"New to you is new to me." Stan moved his hands under Ford's sweater, playing his fingers up and down Ford's ribs.

Ford grasped Stanley's forearms and held him still. "Stanley," he said solemnly, "I love you."

"I love you, too, Ford."

"I was so angry that I forgot to say it. No matter how mad I am, I should never forget to say that I love you. Nothing should ever matter quite that much."

"I understand. You were out of your mind with Science. Otherwise you would have said it. Just so we're clear... I get to stay."

"The portal is a very serious matter. I don't want any of you near it." Ford sighed raggedly. "The truth is, I don't want to be here alone with it this winter." He let Stan's arms loose, promptly wrapped him in a hug, then kissed and lipped at his neck.

Stan hummed at the kiss, then gave a rumbling moan and pushed his fingers into Ford's hair. "There is one easy, obvious answer. I stay with you. Forever."

"But the portal--"

"I've lived here in the Shack and worked with the portal for thirty years. I'm not a genius, but I _am_ an expert. You can't stay here and work by yourself, lonely and afraid. That would be boneheaded. Even I know that."

"Okay," Ford said into Stan's ear, "you can finish undressing me now. I want us both naked."

"Is that 'okay' I can undress you, or 'okay' I can help with the Science?"

"Let's begin with the undressing."

Stan squeezed and crumpled the scratchy, thick wool of Ford's sweater in his hands as he rolled it up and off. Then he ran his fingers over the well-worn cotton undershirt, until Ford made an impatient sound and shrugged his shoulders to hurry him up. When Stan arrived at Ford's briefs, he lingered with his thumbs under the waistband, stroking Ford's hipbones. Ford unbuttoned Stanley's shirt. He popped the button on Stan's pants and then pulled, frowning, at Stan's belt buckle; Stan quickly helped him. His cock twitched when Ford's warm fingers hooked in the waistband of his boxers.

When they were naked, Stan sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at Ford. "What do you want to try?"

Ford frowned and cupped one of Stan's knees. "Pretty much the first thing I did when I came through the portal was punch you in the face. Where did I get you?"

Stan touched his left cheek.

Ford placed a series of small, dry kisses on the spot and around it. "Is it bruised?"

"Not too bad yet."

Ford increased the intensity of his kisses.

"I must've punched you, too, right?"

"You didn't land one."

"Ah. Yeah." Stanley petted Ford's shoulder with his fingertips. Ford sat down next to him on the bed and curled his fingers up with Stan's. A few firm, wet kisses on his cheek later, Stanley began to squirm, wiggle his legs and feet around, and tilt his head back. He stayed easily within reach of Ford's mouth, but he moved constantly. Then he backed up the bed on his elbows, pushing with his heels. Ford followed him.

Ford caught up to Stan when Stan bumped backwards into the pillow at the head of the bed. "What's wrong?"

"I am _definitely not_ about to cry. Bawling like a baby is not going to commence now. So if you were looking for that, it's not going to happen."

"I see." Ford made a fist, touched his knuckles to the spot he had punched earlier that night, and rubbed the spot in circles with his knuckles. He looked at Stan over his glasses, smiling a little.

Stanley bawled like a baby. He wiped his eyes and nose with the back of his hand and sobbed into the pit of Ford's neck.

"Okay," said Ford, and patted him on the back.

Stan used the towel Ford had prepared for sex for tears and snot instead. "The problem is," he explained in a gravelly voice between hitching sobs, "that when I started using the towel, I thought I was done crying. Tears are still coming. Not done yet. Probably need a second towel."

"Are you okay, Stan?"

"You're back. My brother's back."

"Yes." Ford moved his hand up and down Stan's upper arm, then firmed his grip and rocked his hand over the muscle.

Stan wiped his eyes again with a clean corner of the towel. "Don't really know when the crying is going to stop..."

"Hmm... I'm not sure of the etiquette. Is it acceptable for me to suck your dick while you're crying?"

"For that, I will pull myself together. Getting it together here, any second. You can start anytime you want."

Ford didn't start right away. Instead, he pulled Stan into a hug, with one knee tucked over the top of Stan's thigh. Stan hummed in response. A few big tears rolled down his cheeks. He sniffed, and seemed to be done. His fingers curled over Ford's collarbone and he leaned in, his forehead against Ford's cheek.

Ford made a hushing sound and rocked him a little.

"Like I said, totally got it together."

"I'll try it then. Fair warning, Stan: I have little to no idea of how to do this."

"Your mouth, my dick, I don't see what I could have to complain about."

Ford slid back down the bed and Stan used his elbows and heels to work his way beneath him.

"You'll have to let me know how I'm doing." Ford aimed Stan's cock at his mouth by barely holding it with his fingertips and the pad of his thumb. He gave a cautious lick, then moved his lips around like he was trying to get hold of a drinking straw in a shake. He got the tip in his mouth, sucked a little and closed his eyes. Soon he took the head fully into his mouth, sucked more, wrapped his hand around the base of Stan's cock and squeezed.

Stan let Ford know how he was doing with a lot of incoherent sounds. He tried to keep from thrusting into Ford's mouth by making fists and forcing his elbows into the bedding. Ford pulled off of Stan's throbbing cock, and Stan croaked, "Just so you know, this is good. You're getting a spectacular review. In my head. Words. Good ones."

Ford sat back on his heels, slowly curled his fingers around his own hardening cock and gave it a few unhurried pulls. He palmed Stan's erection and said, "The little bit of your precome I tasted was good. I think I want to try to swallow. Okay?"

"You're asking my permission? You have it."

Ford didn't wait. When Stan had gone through a repertoire of sounds he hadn't even known he had in him, Ford wiped his chin and the corner of his mouth. "I didn't quite succeed," he said, eyelashes drooped, with a shy smile.

"I love you. Seriously."

Ford nodded without looking up. He was rubbing Stan's lower belly with his palm. A dimple showed in his cheek.

"That is such a manly, rugged dimple. You're adorable. I'm crazy about you."

Ford's smile twitched.

"See? That's what I mean! Adorable."

Ford's dimple deepened. "You're very attractive, yourself."

"Okay... feeling a little shy here... What do you want to do next?"

"I thought of asking you... I thought of asking you to, to put your fingers... inside... this is embarrassing to talk about."

"Want me to finger your butt?"

Ford took a deep breath. "Yes. I'd like to try it. If you want to."

"Okay, good. I'd like to, and I think you'll enjoy it."

Ford bit his lip. "We'll need something for lubricant."

Stan dug in a drawer of the bedside table and muttered a list of the contents. "Mystery Oil, Mystery Ointment..."

He tossed a vial onto the bed. Ford glanced at it, then adjusted his glasses and took a second look. "Hey. This was named _Murder_ oil. You scratched out the word 'Murder' and replaced it with 'Mystery'."

"Heh. That stuff never expires."

"In any case, absolutely nothing with the word 'Mystery' in its name is going up my butt."

"Scratch the Mystery Dildo, then."

Ford groaned and buried his head in a pillow. A few seconds later he turned his head toward Stan. "Don't you have any regular safe-for-internal-use oil? Even Vaseline or something?"

"Slippery Petroleum Product?"

"Good enough."

"I use it for my elbows."

"Your elbows _are_ admirably smooth. But I don't think we're going to fit an elbow in my asshole."

"Just a finger," Stan agreed.

Ford tensed up. Stan could see him tense, from his upper arms, down his sides, all the way to his ass and the backs of his thighs. "Only when you're ready," Stan reassured him. "Stroke yourself a little, first. And if you don't want to do it, I can just kiss your ass or something."

"To further your campaign for staying in the Mystery Shack?"

"Maybe because I _want_ to kiss your ass. I bet I'll enjoy it."

Ford obviously relaxed. "In that case, I welcome it."

Stan smiled. "A box of tissues would make Petroleum Product clean-up a lot easier. I don't want to have to wash the stuff out of a towel if I can help it. I won't be a second. Gotta find some tissues." He jostled Ford's back reassuringly. Ford hummed an assent. "Here," Stan went on, "I'll put on a record for you to listen to while you wait. What would you like?"

"I used to have the X-File album with 'Lick You All Over' on it. You haven't broken it, have you?"

"Of course I haven't broken it. It's right here. What do you take me for?"

"I take you for a knucklehead with no regard for other people's property, who's lived alone in my house with all my stuff for thirty years."

"Haha! Touché! But no, here's your record. Almost all of your records are unharmed. And one of the harmed ones I had nothing at all to do with. Dipper stepped on it. I kept the sleeve, though, in case you might want it. Also, at least one of the scratched records is barely even my fault. I put lightbulbs in the eye sockets of my McTaxidermy's Supersized Piranha Mount, then forgot I had done it. I got startled by its horrible eyes in the middle of the night and knocked the fish onto the record and gave it a big old scratch. It was self-defense, when you think about it a certain way."

"Mm-hmm," said Ford.

"I saved that record, though. Some of it still plays."

Stan placed the requested, unharmed album on the player and Ford said, "Thank you."

Stan put on his robe and slippers and went to find tissues. When he came back, Ford was sitting up in bed reading record sleeves. He adjusted his glasses to look at Stanley's armload of supplies.

Stan juggled things and tried to remember what all he had collected. "Two clean towels, and a blanket from your room. Also an extra pillow from your couch. I couldn't find any tissues. There was only a half-roll of toilet paper in the bathroom, so I didn't want to take that. I got two Summerween-themed cocktail napkins and half a dozen rolls of crepe paper with hearts on it, to have something to clean up Petroleum Product with. We are well and truly set. Oh, and two tangerine sodas from the vending machine, too."

"I'll crack one of those right now."

Stan awkwardly handed it to him out of his armful, from under a folded towel, then laid everything out. "I'm leaving my glasses on," he told Ford. "I want to see everything clearly. I want to watch you."

"Will it turn you on to watch me?"

"Of course."

Ford let out a quiet sigh through his nose. "That's good." He opened his soda can right under his nose and then snorted at the fizz.

Stan sat down on the edge of the bed and waited while Ford had a few swallows of soda. After Ford put the can on the bedside table, Stan stroked and patted his knee. Ford put his hand over Stan's. "Stanley... I'm not used to people touching me."

"Hey, it's me."

"I know. I want it because it's you. But I'm afraid of tension in my ass. It's supposed to hurt if you're tense."

"So you won't be tense. You'll be calm and loose. Let me get my fingers greased up--"

"Fingers? Plural?"

"I promise I am only starting with one. You don't have to take any more than that. I'll just be prepared in case you want more."

"Okay."

"We'll lie down on our sides. You can lean against me. You stroke yourself for a while, and when you're good and hot and relaxed, then I'll come in. You want that?"

Ford sighed and clenched Stan's hand. "Yes. I want that. I want to try it, at least."

Stan closed his eyes, leaned over and kissed Ford on the corner of his mouth. He kept a guiding hand on him while Ford settled himself and tilted his head back against Stan. "Touch me the whole time," Ford requested.

Stan situated himself so he could nuzzle and lip, then lick, Ford's ear. Ford did a sharp intake of breath and took hold of his cock. With one arm under Ford's head, Stan was able to keep solid pressure from his chest and the fronts of his shoulders on Ford's back. He mouthed his ear again, rubbed his forehead in Ford's hair. Then he moved his lubed fingers between Ford's asscheeks.

Ford tensed at the touch. "I'm not ready yet."

"I'm not touching your hole yet. Don't worry about it, Ford."

Ford huffed. "Okay. I'll just--touch myself..."

"That's the idea. I'm looking forward to it."

"If you say so, Stan."

"I do say so."

"More touching. More cuddling. Be more involved. Please."

"Hand on ass is not involved, he says. Sheesh. Okay." Stan moved his arm that was under Ford's head, until he could reach around far enough to lightly flick the tip of his nose.

Ford wrinkled his nose. "Don't tease, Stanley."

"Heh. Okay, whatever. Hold hands." Stan held his hand open and Ford took it awkwardly, using the arm he was lying on, because he was stroking himself with his other hand. "I don't mean to tease, Sixer, but I'm cuddled right up against your back, I believe as close as I can get. Can't you feel the front of my knee in the back of yours?"

Ford made a sound of agreement as he pulled at his cock.

"Good." Stan kissed Ford behind the ear, and Ford moaned. "That's what I like to hear, Ford."

Ford breathed loudly through his nose. Stan pushed his fingers to just outside of Ford's hole. He watched for how aggressively Ford was jerking himself, but he didn't need that to make a decision about his finger after all. Ford pushed back, whether consciously or not, trying for more contact, and Stan's middle finger rubbed the rim of his anus.

"I didn't say you could yet, Stan," Ford murmured absently. He arched his back and wriggled until Stan had to pull his finger back in order to avoid Ford sliding right onto it of his own volition.

"I _think_ you're ready. You're practically climbing my finger."

"Okay, if you say so. Just do it. Put it in."

Stan slid his finger barely forward and Ford's muscles pulled it halfway in immediately. Stan was startled by the heat. His cock gave a jump.

Ford's response was authoritative. "Okay. Good."

Stan's breath seethed. The tight heat around his finger was compelling, and being this close to his brother was intoxicating. He wanted to put in another finger right away, to see what it would feel like. He thought he probably could, but if Ford didn't ask for it, it wasn't happening.

Ford whimpered as he jerked his cock vigorously and clutched at Stan's hand. He couldn't bend his elbow and wrist to do any better than squeeze just the tips of Stan's fingers with his own. "Stan..."

"Gotcha, buddy. Here, I think I can move my hand..." Stan slid down so he could reach his arm further under Ford's neck. He couldn't see anything but Ford's hair, and the curve of his back if he tucked his chin, but Ford could curl their fingers together. Ford sighed gratefully.

Stan enjoyed the limited view of his brother's hair with its grey streak. "I kinda want to touch your hair. Just gonna nuzzle right in here."

"Stan... I think I need..."

"What do you need?"

"I need something," he huffed impatiently, as if Stan were supposed to know what he needed.

Stan was ready to believe Ford needed another finger, because he wanted to put more in. Luckily for Stan, the next thing Ford said, in a strained whimper, was, "More. More of your fingers. I think that's what I need. Put in another finger."

Stan slowly pulled his middle finger back until he could slide his first finger in alongside. He pushed gently and rotated his hand.

" _Oh._ " Ford's whole body was shaking and rocking with the force of his masturbating.

"Coming, Ford?"

"I can't. I can't, Goddamnit. I need to--I need your--"

Stan made an educated guess, pulled out both fingers and added a third.

"Have mercy, Stan!"

"I'd better check, Ford. That... sounds as if you could want me to stop. Do you?"

"Stay in, stay in! I'm just saying--saying things. These are not premeditated words."

"Got it."

"Good. I'm almost-- _oh_. Oh my God."

Ford's hips jerked strongly and Stan's hand stayed with him. Ford's ribcage heaved and his head fell forward, then relaxed back against Stan, who turned his head to meet Ford's hair with his cheek and avoid getting his nose bumped.

They were both quiet. Stan liked that he could feel his chest moving against Ford's back, and see and feel how relaxed Ford was. After a rest, Stan said, "That was incredible, Ford. I could feel everything. I could feel your muscles around my fingers when you came. Amazing. How do you feel? I think you can reach that towel. There's no room to be avoiding a wet spot in a single bed."

"It was good, but I'm... Stan, I'm so exhausted."

"Luckily, you're where I can keep an eye on you." Stan scootched his elbow back under Ford's neck until he could sit up and wipe off his own fingers. He stroked the hair over Ford's temple. Ford made some murmuring hums and tilted his head for more touch, which Stan gave him. "You go to sleep, I'll be right here. I'll be on watch. Of course, I won't be _awake_ , but I'll be big spoon. That way I'll take the brunt if anything freaky comes."

"You wake me if--"

"Not a chance." Stan crossed an arm over him. Ford took hold of the hand that was in front of him, gave it a quick smooch, and fell sound asleep.

*****

When Stan woke with sunlight in his face, Ford was up and dressed from shoes to coat.

"You're dressed?" Stan sat up and rubbed his eyes, then launched himself halfway down the bed, reaching one arm toward Ford and blurting out, "No, don't leave!"

"You don't want me to go for a walk?"

Stan fumbled for his teeth and put them in so he could speak more clearly. But he stammered anyway. "Uh... no, I... that's not what I thought. I mean that's not what I meant. You have your coat on and everything... I thought..."

"It is warm. I guess I don't need my coat." Ford worked his arms out of the coat and tossed it over a straightback chair.

Stan let out a long breath. "Wait for me? I have to get dressed and cleaned up."

"I'll wait," Ford said cheerfully.

When Stan had his glasses on, he could clearly see that Ford was giving him a warm smile. Stan smiled back and pulled on his pants.

They were almost across the shop floor before Dipper barreled up to them, untied sneakers loud on the floorboards. He was waving sheaves of paper and a handful of pens. "Great-Uncle Ford! Can you can answer some questions now? You can answer some questions now, right? I've been up since five this morning working on a list of topics. It's mostly perfect, except for some problem areas. I haven't got a way to organize the subjects that are about Gravity Falls in general, some of the things that I'm sure don't appear in the journals. And then there are questions about things that may or may not be synonymous with certain journal subjects. At least it's something to start from. And I have some blank pages to make notes on."

"Excellent," said Ford. "I'll answer your questions in alphabetical order."

"Alphabetical?" Dipper sagged. He looked sadly at his pile of pages. "But I ordered them by journal number..."

Ford ruffled Dipper's hair. "Kidding. You can bring me waffles in the basement around one o'clock, and ask me five questions." He held up his fingers with his thumb tucked against his palm. "That'll be my lunch break for today."

"Oh! Okay! But I just need to know what constitutes a question. Five questions _total_ , or do subcategories count as one question under a single header? What about natural follow-ups that I didn't already have written down? What about questions I don't even know I have? What if you bring up topics I didn't know I need to know about? If you bring those up on your own do they count as my questions?" Dipper took a deep breath which ended on a squeak.

Ford crossed his arms and gave him a flat look.

"Right! Hah, okay, yeah. Five questions. See you at one!" Dipper began to stride off, but his first manly step landed on one of his shoelaces. "It's okay, I have tough knees!" he said quickly, on his way down.

Dipper typically screamed like a girl when he anticipated that his body was about to impact a hard surface, so Stan figured the assurance was for Ford's benefit. "Kid," Stan advised when Dipper had landed, "tie your shoes. Then try your exit again."

"You ought to buy Dipper a pair of boots," remarked Ford.

"Yeah, because that would be a big improvement." Stan slapped Ford's shoulder. He kept his hand there and Ford placed his over it.

Dipper was feverishly tying his shoes. His voice cracked on the very first syllable of his next speech. "Do you think I should wear boots, Great-Uncle Ford? Do all good investigators wear boots? Should I invest in boots?"

"I'm wearing shoes," answered Ford.

"Oh, of course, haha, I'll... go practice my observational skills." Dipper made no move to do so, and Stan noticed that he had begun doing the nervous-habit pen-clicking thing, so he felt it was a good time to help him leave.

"Dipper, your sister is in the side yard with her little girlfriends, practicing _King Lear_ for the Gravity Falls Shakespeare-Off. Didn't you promise her something about helping the pig learn the part of Edgar... or... Oswald?"

"Edmund," said Dipper, organized and dusted-off and standing straight once more. "Yeah. She was gonna play Edmund herself, but after she tried it she decided she didn't want to be the antagonist. See you later, Grunkle Stan, and see you at one with waffles, Great-Uncle Ford." 

Dipper strode out this time without gravitational mishaps.

Ford stood still for some time, arms folded, as if in thought, then roused himself and nudged Stan lightly with an elbow, giving him a half-smile. Stan grinned and made an inviting gesture toward the door.

They didn't even get off of the porch of the Mystery Shack before Ford stopped and put his hand on one of the logs that served as pillars. He stood, his back to Stanley, looking out past the front yard. They could hear Grenda roaring in the side yard:

**"...methought his eyes**  
**Were two full moons! He had a thousand noses!**  
**Horns whelk'd and waved like the enridged sea:**  
**It was some _fiend_ \--"**

Ford gave a slight jump, and turned as if to watch something coming from that direction.

Dipper spoke. "Grenda, say 'enridged' with three syllables."

**"Fine, Dipper, but what the heck's a 'whelk'd'!?"**

"'What shall Cordelia do? Love, and be silent,'" Candy recited. "I am the sweetest daughter."

Ford relaxed then, shoulders slumped.

"What's troubling you, Sixer?"

"Stanley. Stan... the thing that's troubling me--" Ford took a breath and looked to the side yard again. After a pause, he said firmly, "I always knew you would be the one to bring me back. I didn't know how you would manage it, but I knew you would do it."

"So what's the problem, then?"

"You're not smart enough to handle Bill!" Ford's arms shook and he made fists. He did not look at Stanley.

Stan had read that journal page, of course, invisible ink and all. He played dumb. "Who's Bill?"

Ford turned toward Stan, head down. The kids laughed at something in the side yard. Ford did not speak for some time, and when he did, it seemed as if Stan hadn't asked him anything. "By the time you came down to the basement to beg, Stan, I was already seriously thinking of going upstairs to find you. I was going to ask for a do-over."

Stan allowed Ford's change of subject. "A do-over? Of what?"

Ford shoved his hands deep into his pockets and scraped the toe of a shoe on the porch. "I was afraid you wouldn't be as glad to see me as I was to see you. And then you _were_. If I had let myself hug you, I would have broken down. Showing weakness has gotten me into a lot of trouble with a lot of people. Not with you. Never with you. But I was too happy to be back, and I panicked. Could we have a do-over of when you brought me back last night? Do again what you did when I first came through."

Stan unhesitatingly raised and opened his arms, and cried joyfully, "Brother!"

For an instant, Ford's face made Stan afraid that the do-over was also going to involve punching. Then Ford flung his arms around Stanley's ribcage, bowing his head and shoving his face into his collarbone. Stan settled his arms securely over Ford's shoulders.

"Now you tell me I'm safe, Stan."

Stan hugged him, and pressed the fingers of one hand deep into Ford's hair. "You're safe. You're home, Stanford. I fixed everything."

Ford snarled into Stan's lapel. He spat, "You did not _fix everything_ , Stanley! You have no idea--" he abruptly tightened his hold on Stan's ribcage.

Ford's shoulders shook and his back trembled. He made no sound. Stan knew there wasn't going to be a gasping sob or a wail or any of those things. Ford was a silent crier.

"Here. Let me get your glasses."

Ford lifted his head and fixed Stan with a vehement frowning stare, tears shiny across his cheeks and running down his chin. Stan lifted his glasses off for him. Ford put his face back on Stan's collarbone and rubbed his wet cheeks against his lapel. Stan settled his arm over Ford's upper back, glasses hanging from his fingertips. He rubbed his cheek against Ford's hair. "Ford, babe, I got this. So _maybe_ I didn't fix _everything_. I know there's things you're not telling me yet. Things that scare you. _But I fixed what was important_. You're back. I got you back. You're with me. I'm with you. Everything else, secrets that you're protecting me from, universal destruction, whatever, it's all just details. High six me if you think I fixed what was important."

Stan transferred Ford's glasses to his left hand and raised his right hand over Ford's head. "High six! Or... you can snot all over the front of my suit. That works too. Come on, brother, please don't leave me hanging this time."

Ford gripped Stan's back so hard that his fingertips dragged across his jacket. "I can't. Don't want to let go long enough to high six."

Stan dropped his hand and tightened his hold on Ford. "You can say it. Say 'high six' for me because I fixed what was--"

"High six," said Ford.

 

_The End_


End file.
